


Truth Like Gold

by malevolentmango



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Beaches, Established Relationship, Fluff, Honeymoon, Husbands, M/M, Mild Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango
Summary: Jesse and Hanzo honeymoon in Ilios.Or: In which sex on the beach is actually the only thing theydon'tdo, but the drinks are nice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is not what I was supposed to write. *glances at KRC* But it's all I've got because I'm weak for fluff.
> 
> Thank you to the slobbering mob who read this and decided it was good enough to post, and especially [Tsoleil](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorqui) and [Vashoth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth) for leaving helpful suggestions that weren't just screaming. <3
> 
> The title is taken from this Leo Tolstoy quote, because I am a huge goddamn nerd: "Truth, like gold, is to be obtained not by its growth, but by washing away from it all that is not gold."

The ceiling of their honeymoon suite is textured to look like ocean waves, Hanzo realizes, as he lounges in the lazy late morning sunshine streaming through the glass doors that lead to the balcony. He has yet to fully appreciate the view of the sea that surrounds Ilios from out there, much like he hadn’t noticed the ceiling at all until now.

 

He’d been a bit preoccupied with the way Jesse’s hair had fanned out across the plush white pillows of their bed, and the way he’d moaned out Hanzo’s name as his nails left grooves in the skin of Hanzo’s back.

 

It twinges a bit now, as he lays on his back admiring the masonry, but he’s certainly suffered worse for far less enjoyment. And there’s very little that could bother him here, with Jesse sprawled out along his side, his arm slung across Hanzo’s stomach, slow puffs of breath tickling his neck where Jesse’s head rests next to his on the pillow.

 

Hanzo has woken up next to Jesse more times than he can count over the last few years - for early morning patrols and supply runs, for mission briefings and team training, for tea with Ana and Lena or sparring with Genji and a very determined Hana, and even, on very rare occasions, for the simple pleasure of curling back into the comfort of his arms on a lazy day off. It’s as normal as breathing, to open his eyes and find Jesse there beside him. But this morning feels different, familiar and strange all at the same time.

 

He will wake up next to Jesse in this room for only a week, but the ring on his finger comes with the knowledge that he will do so, no matter where they are in the world, for the rest of his life.

 

It’s a feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach, a comfortable weight, one that he will carry gladly. Lighter than any he has carried in the past, and significantly more pleasant.

 

Contentment, he thinks, watching the sun’s rays filter across the ocean waves on the ceiling, making them dance. Jesse makes a sleepy noise into his neck, on the verge of waking, and Hanzo smiles.

 

He is content.

 

“Good morning, Jesse,” he says, turning to press a kiss to his forehead. Jesse shifts closer to him and yawns, squeezing his arm around Hanzo’s middle.

 

“Mornin’, hubby,” Jesse says, groggy but with a distinct grin in his voice.

 

Hanzo snorts. “Is that your new preferred pet name?”

 

“Probably will be for a while,” he admits quietly, always too honest in his first moments of wakefulness, pressing lazy kisses to Hanzo’s neck and shoulders. He tilts his head to give Jesse better access. “But you’ll always be my sugar, sugar.”

 

“Ridiculous,” Hanzo murmurs, bringing his hand up to lace his fingers through Jesse’s where they rest on his stomach. Jesse looks down at their entwined hands intently, and Hanzo sees that his ring is reflecting gold across the room in the morning sun.

 

Jesse is quiet for a long moment. Then he stretches briefly before hauling himself up, throwing his leg over Hanzo to straddle him. He raises Hanzo’s hand to his lips and kisses the slim gold band on his finger before leaning down to kiss the man it belongs to, lazy and slow, carding the fingers of his other hand through Hanzo’s sleep-mussed hair.

 

“I hope you know we ain’t leavin’ this bed anytime soon,” Jesse says, a promise whispered against his lips accompanied by the slow rotations of his hips. Hanzo meets his growing hardness with one of his own, bucking up to meet Jesse’s next thrust with a slight impatience.

 

“You will have to give me a _very_ good reason to skip breakfast, husband of mine,” Hanzo says, smirking at the little gasp he wrings from Jesse’s mouth.

 

“Cheeky this morning, are ya? I’ll give you a _damn_ good reason.”

 

They eventually have a late lunch delivered to their room, and when Jesse insists that there’s really no reason to venture outside when he’s got everything he needs right here, Hanzo can’t help but agree with him.

 

~~~

 

The next day starts out much the same, with Jesse leaving a trail of nips and kisses down Hanzo’s chest and stomach all the way to his cock. He takes his time, and Hanzo watches him with hooded eyes from his nest of pillows, admiring the flash of gold as he runs his left hand through Jesse’s hair.

 

Later, they spend their evening out on the balcony, where Hanzo finally gets to admire the view as Jesse feeds him fresh strawberries. As the sun sets, they open the bottle of champagne the hotel had left in their suite when they arrived.

 

“To bein’ husbands,” Jesse says, holding up his glass with a rueful grin, “words I never thought I’d say.”

 

Hanzo clinks their glasses together, an answering smile crossing his face. “To the strange course of life, husband.”

 

Jesse’s eyes light up at his words, and it’s one of Hanzo’s favorite things, the way Jesse can find joy in the simplest of pleasures. They sip their champagne - it’s nice, Hanzo thinks, not too fruity - and Hanzo catches the look on Jesse’s face, like he wants to enjoy it but is actually trying not to grimace at the taste.

 

Hanzo rolls his eyes and slips out of Jesse’s grasp to head back into their room, ignoring his questioning look. He flips open Jesse’s suitcase and finds what he’s looking for almost immediately: the bottle of whiskey he’d packed that Hanzo’s not supposed to know about. He carries it back out to the balcony, where Jesse chuckles and doesn’t resist when Hanzo takes the glass out of his hand. He pours the rest of Jesse’s champagne into his own glass and fills Jesse’s with the whiskey instead.

 

When he hands it back, Jesse is staring at him, his eyes soft and his lips quirked up in a small smile.

 

“You know me too well, darlin’.”

 

Hanzo raises an eyebrow and takes a sip from his too-full glass of champagne. “I believe that is how we got into this mess, is it not?”

 

Jesse laughs and tugs him closer with an arm around his waist, pulling him in for a kiss. Hanzo sighs and revels in the feeling, nothing but the distant rush of the sea and the cool breeze on his skin and the sheer, overwhelming presence of _Jesse._ Like the world has narrowed to nothing but the two of them, and all of the problems and responsibilities they left behind in Gibraltar are a distant memory.

 

He could never have imagined a bliss like this when he was younger. It simply wasn’t an option.

 

The strange course of life, indeed.

 

When they part, he rests his head on Jesse’s shoulder and looks out across the sea, reflecting the reds and oranges of the sunset, uninterrupted but for the ridged shadows of the outlying islands. He drinks his champagne, gold bubbles beneath a gold ring, as Jesse presses a soft kiss to the top of his head and hums something tuneless, low and sweet, into his hair.

 

“The beach looks lovely tonight,” he says, eyeing the distant expanse of white sand with its dots of umbrellas and chairs.

 

“Sure does.” Jesse hasn’t moved. Hanzo is fairly certain if he asked Jesse how many other islands they could see from their balcony, he wouldn’t be able to answer. “Too bad we ain’t had time to go down there.”

 

Hanzo snorts, turning to look up at him. Jesse has a distinctly sheepish grin on his face, as if he knows exactly what Hanzo’s about to say.

 

“We have had plenty of time. You just insist on being _distracting.”_

 

“Well I ain’t heard you complainin’, hubby.” Jesse leans in closer, crowds him against the balcony railing and whispers in his ear. “Heard a whole lotta my own name, matter of fact.”

 

“I will have to put a stop to that then,” Hanzo says, teasing, slipping his hand under Jesse’s shirt. “So that I can enjoy the beach part of my beach holiday.”

 

“ _Your_ holiday, huh?” Jesse nuzzles at his neck briefly before stepping out of reach, inching away to the balcony door. Hanzo makes a disgruntled noise. “Should I take off then? Leave you and the beach to have some alone time?”

 

Hanzo narrows his eyes and stalks after him, just barely catching the door before Jesse can close it. He sprawls across their bed in what he probably assumes is a seductive pose, somehow managing not to spill a drop of his whiskey in the process. Jesse sips it delicately, pinky out, before smacking his lips and saying, “Ah, what a great vintage.”

 

Hanzo can’t help it - he bursts out laughing. When he catches his breath, he says fondly, “You are...so ridiculous.”

 

Jesse smiles, wide and beautiful, and beckons him closer with his free hand. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

 

By the time Hanzo is done with him, there’s no room for doubt about whose holiday this is.

 

~~~

 

“So you think the base is on fire yet?” Jesse says, twirling a bite of pasta around his fork.

 

They finally made it out of the hotel for dinner on their fourth night in Ilios. Hanzo had discovered a cliffside restaurant not far from where they’re staying with a truly incredible view of the water. Aside from the quiet murmur of the few other patrons and waitstaff, they’re sharing a delicious meal in their own little world as dusk settles over the island, their table illuminated by several tealights, pleasantly buzzed from drinks that never seem to be empty.

 

It’s undeniably romantic. And so Hanzo is not at all surprised that Jesse’s thoughts have turned to potential arson.

 

“I assume we would not know even if it was. Lena assured me we would not be hearing from the Watchpoint even if the place was actively exploding.”

 

Jesse laughed. “When’d she say that?”

 

“At the reception, while you were dancing with Ana.”

 

“Course she did. Wouldn’t be surprised if she followed through on that either.”

 

“My brother would likely insist on it, even if she did not.”

 

He remembers the way Genji had leaned across Lena at the table, his visor abandoned in favor of wedding cake, to add with an impish smirk on his face, “There will probably be even less trouble with you two gone anyway.” The effect was somewhat diminished by his red-rimmed eyes; the only person who’d been crying more than him throughout the entire ceremony and reception was Reinhardt.

 

It was old news by that point, an ever-present fixture since the setup for the wedding had begun in earnest. But Hanzo had been shocked the first time Genji cried in front of him, after he took him aside to tell him about the engagement, little metallic gasps filtering through his visor as his armor released bursts of steam from its vents.

 

“You are happy now, brother,” he’d said, his hand coming to rest on Hanzo’s upper arm. “I see it so clearly in your eyes, in the way you carry yourself. Not just because of Jesse, but strengthened by him. And so, I am happy for you.”

 

And Hanzo had kept waiting for the other boot to drop, as Jesse was so fond of saying, for something or someone to come along and break this fragile peace he’d built for himself. But now he’s here, watching the candlelight flicker across Jesse’s face, with his brother and their friends waiting back at Gibraltar, determined to make sure they have the perfect week off. And he thinks, this time, that there might not be any other boot after all.

 

That finally he is exactly where - not to mention _who_ \- he wants to be.

 

“S’pose we should make him a real nice thank you card. His gift was the most useful one we got.”

 

Hanzo snorts. His brother’s sentimentality had also come with what Hanzo could only assume was a lifetime supply of lube, packed into a suitcase with a fake baggage tag that read “For Ilios ;)”

 

“Perhaps we should attach the card to the empty suitcase and give it back.”

 

He catches Jesse in the middle of taking a drink and pats his back gently as he chokes through his laughter.

 

After Jesse recovers, he says, “Now _that_ sounds like a plan, darlin’.”

 

When their server comes by to ask if they want dessert, Jesse tells him no. When Hanzo asks teasingly what happened to his sweet tooth, Jesse informs him in no uncertain terms what he would much rather have for dessert back at their hotel.

 

The check doesn’t come nearly fast enough for Hanzo after that.

 

~~~

 

Hanzo almost gets his day at the beach the following afternoon, when he convinces Jesse to leave their bed with the reasoning that they’re on an _island,_ and therefore returning to base without having set foot on a beach would be practically criminal.

 

They get as far as the hotel pool before Jesse tugs him into a nearby shower cubicle by his left hand and drops to his knees. Hanzo would probably be more annoyed if the clean-up wasn’t so easy.

 

~~~

 

They finally make it down to the beach on their last night in Ilios.

 

It’s as gorgeous as Hanzo had thought it would be. The water laps gently at the shore, moonlight reflecting off the clear, crystal blue waves. It’s late enough that most of the tourists have dispersed, and the few other people who remain are far away, out of earshot. They’re testing the limits of one of the flimsy lounge chairs, with Hanzo laying back against Jesse’s chest and Jesse’s arms wrapped around him. Jesse rubs soothing circles into Hanzo’s stomach with his right hand. His left rests on Hanzo’s thigh, the gold engraving on the ring finger of his prosthetic glinting in the dim light.

 

Jesse had chosen to get the engraving done long before the wedding, not willing to wait until after their return to Gibraltar, so Hanzo’s had plenty of time to get used to the sight of it.

 

He's not sure he will ever truly be used to it.

 

“You were right,” Jesse says, offering Hanzo the last swig of whiskey from the bottle. They'd been passing it back and forth between them, determined to finish it before they left. As Hanzo does so, Jesse adds, “The beach is nice. We shoulda come down here sooner.”

 

Hanzo huffs, exasperated. “And whose fault is it that we didn't, hmm?”

 

What he expects Jesse to say to this is one of his typical _Jesse_ responses, all flirt and minimal seriousness. Something like “Didn't see you complainin’, sugar.” The kind with a grain of truth that Hanzo has to dig for, amidst all the bluster. He’s practically a professional at it by now.

 

What he gets instead is Jesse slipping his prosthetic hand into Hanzo's, tilting their joined hands from side to side so that the gold flashes by, a matching set on either side.

 

“Couldn't help myself,” Jesse says quietly, his voice a low rumble that Hanzo can feel against the back of his neck. “Every time I looked at you, saw that ring on your finger and remembered how we ended up here, how goddamn lucky I am to have you, I just wanted you more. And that ain’t never gonna stop.”

 

And isn’t that just like Jesse, he thinks, swallowing thickly as tears prick threateningly at the corners of his eyes. To surprise him when he’s least prepared for it. To take what people expect of him and change the script entirely, leaving them floundering in his wake. To leave Hanzo lingering on these small moments, when he gets to catch a glimpse of the very core of Jesse, of what truly makes him tick. And though those moments happen more frequently now, and more often for Hanzo than for anyone else, that doesn’t make them any less significant.

 

It’s like staring into the sun. Blinding, all-encompassing, leaving a lasting imprint long after Hanzo has closed his eyes.

 

“I thought the same thing,” Hanzo says, gravelly with emotion, smiling down at their linked hands, “about how lucky I was. When you proposed to me.”

 

It’s a memory Hanzo will never forget - curled up on the couch under Jesse’s serape watching some old cowboy movie Jesse had insisted that he see, laughing at all the horrible cliches before Jesse shushed him, insisting it was “just getting to the good part.” Turning to him as the credits rolled, saying he can see where Jesse must get it from, but that he much preferred the real thing, _his_ cowboy, flesh and blood. The one who made him happy, made him proud, every single day.

 

And the look on Jesse’s face after that, as if he didn’t know quite what to do with Hanzo’s words, and so he had to say something even more ridiculous and unexpected of his own. “Marry me then,” he’d said. Stammering out an explanation in the face of Hanzo’s stunned silence. “I’ll be yours, every single day, if that’s what you want. I...I was gonna do this better, I swear, I had it all planned out...I got a ring hidden in the dresser--”

 

His muffled sound of shock when Hanzo had pulled him down into a deep kiss. Hanzo must have shouted the word “yes” a hundred times in his head before he finally said it out loud, a whispered “Of course I will” into the space between their lips.

 

“I will always think that I am lucky when it comes to you,” he says now.

 

Jesse nudges their heads together, kisses his temple. Hanzo thinks he must be remembering the same moment - it explains the way he chuckles, and why he’s blushing furiously when Hanzo tilts his head up to look at him.

 

“Can’t believe you said yes to that. I was workin’ on somethin’ much better--”

 

“I saw what you were working on. What you did was far preferable.”

 

“Hey now, I spent a lotta time on that speech! I even--mmph!”

 

Kisses, Hanzo had long ago discovered, are a highly effective and enjoyable way of shutting Jesse up.

 

“It was very _you,”_ Hanzo says finally, reaching up to play with a strand of Jesse’s hair. “I would not have wanted anything more. Especially considering that pile of note cards you used for your vows.”

 

“A’right, that’s quite enough sass from you, Mr. Shimada-McCree.”

 

Hanzo shudders. “I have told you how I feel about hyphenated names.”

 

Jesse catches his lips in another kiss, this one slow and sweet, quiet against the backdrop of the lazy splash of the sea.

 

“You can call yourself whatever you like,” Jesse says after, perching his head on Hanzo’s shoulder to admire their joined hands. “Long as I can still call you my hubby.”

 

“I would not have it any other way, husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to freak out about McHanzo with me, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com).


End file.
